


Crossfire II

by Sorianis



Series: Crossfire [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Badass!noctis, Betrayal, Family time, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I just wanted to write badass noctis, Protective!Regis, no one gets to hurt noctis while regis is alive and kicking, the writers of this game never gave me family feels so i have to do it all myself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2019-11-07 23:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17969693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorianis/pseuds/Sorianis
Summary: Regis didn't believe his eyes when he saw it- saw him. But what he did register at that moment was a mixture of pure instinct and rage.One thing he remembers is grabbing his son by the shoulder and almost throwing his boy behind him; he wasn't going to have a repeat of the ballroom assassination attempt. Not again. Not while there is blood in his veins and the Ring on his finger.Clarus and his son both lunge before them, and Regis has a shield thrown up before General Glauca takes another step towards them.In which General Glauca invades the heart of Insomnia, and Noctis learns firsthand of what his father would sacrifice for him.





	1. 1: Trade his Sword for Love

**Author's Note:**

> I will never top my original Crossfire but I will die t r y i n g

Today was a beautiful day to take a small walk through the gardens in.

 

Or - it was supposed to be.

 

Regis didn't believe his eyes when he saw it- saw _him._ But what he did register at that moment was a mixture of pure instinct and rage.

 

One thing he remembers is grabbing his son by the shoulder and almost throwing his boy behind him; he wasn't going to have a repeat of the ballroom assassination attempt. Not again. Not while there is blood in his veins and the Ring on his finger.

 

Another thing he remembers is Cor shouting into his earpiece, calling for all hands on deck, and didn't even need to look to know he was sliding into the space next to him in front of his son.

 

Clarus and his son both lunge before them, and Regis has a shield thrown up before General Glauca takes another step towards them.

 

_Why is he here? How, even? In the heart of Insomnia like this?_

 

But what he does remember is how the ancestors in his ring were shrieking in the empty cave of his mind. A tsunami of voices flooding him on at least twenty different things at once while General slowly made his way to them. There was too much adrenaline running through his older body now, and so many things were resounding in his mind at once he was almost dizzy.

 

Almost.

 

Regis's mind was a swirl of thoughts, calculations, and battle worn instinct as the general began to draw closer to them. Each step began slow but grew in pace and covered distance as the General wastes no time in beginning his assault.

 

There's no doubt about it at this point. Regis isn't dreaming, and he knows it. There's the Demon General hurling his way towards them across the royal gardens with a sword in his iron clad grip and the omen of death forming a halo through the crimson light in his armor.

 

Glauca may be alone, but he is _strong_. He was the unstoppable driving force behind Tenebrae's fall, and that of so many other Lucian lands. He had killed Sylvia, his Oracle and one of his dearest friends. He had been the one to claim the current Oracle, Luna, under the Empires control. This man -no, this _demon_ had been the cause of so much suffering and bloodshed that Regis himself is almost _snarling._ Because _how dare he_ try to sneak into the castle grounds like this to cause chaos in his own home. _How dare he_ try to cause more bloodshed and despair not so long after the ballroom attack? Part of the king surmises that he might have been behind that whole plot. But now another accusation comes from his mind, and rings loudly and clearly as a tipping point echoes in his mind.

 

_"He's come for the ring. And he's going to try and kill Noctis while he's at it. "_

 

 _"Over my dead body though_." His statement was found to be supported by ancestral echoes tracing back to the fingers holding his sword that clenched further at the thought. The anger he once felt in his aching bones was revived into blazes as he felt the call for more blood to spill. Regis feels the air around him crackle with anger and magic again, because _how dare he._

 

First, assassins that had nearly taken his son's life, but now a demon infamous for taking countless others is charging at them with the intent of hurting not only him, but _Noctis._

 

Regis knew he was never that different from his ancestors, whether it traces from a Lucian trait proudly passed down like the magic in his old bones, or something every King and Queen acquires like the Ring now curling and pulsing with rage and magic. Noctis and the Ring needed to be protected at all costs. They _must_ be.

 

He loved Noctis with all that he had as his father, but he knows better than to play the hopeful optimist now. Glauca is lethal and coming for both things that he would die for. He'll protect the King of Light and the Ring he still believes his progeny is too young to wear, but above all, Regis needs to protect his _son_. He'll take any blow for his child in order to keep him safe. But if he also had the opportunity to gain vengeance for Sylvia while he was at it? He realize he would be happy to kill two birds with one stone.

 

There was nowhere to run though, Glauca had the audacity to come to them. He could have _tried_ to tell Noctis to run once more- he should have- but when there's a demon inches away from him and his _child_ , it seems simpler to run them through with a hundred swords first than it is to open his mouth. He senses Clarus around in his periphery, but he doesn't risk looking when there are other things to worry about.

 

The sheer bulk of Glauca is terrifying and harder to maneuver around than it would seem, the infamous general really seemed to possess some sense of inhuman agility and strength. And on top of that, the sense of scourge that drains from his armor like a blackened aura was almost distracting. He had crossed swords with him before, but he remembered how that ended so many years ago, and knows that brief encounter was only a taste of what was yet to come now.

 

The flash of Cor's katana catches Glauca's attention from behind, and Regis has an opening to slam him with what _was at least_ seven different swords at once.  The General flies back a few dozen meters and he knows better than to take a sigh of relief just yet. So far, so good. Regis knows that it's odd for the general to be unaccompanied by anything less than four airships worth of MTs; but something of that caliber would surely have given him away miles beyond the Lucian walls, let alone for him to sneak up on them like this in the middle of the royal gardens, no less. It must have been his strategy, for such a suicidal mission. It's still suspicious that Glauca is here on his own, but that's a theory for a later time. Regis has yet to cross swords with him to know if this is out of character for the General, but he knows better than to underestimate the cunning of this monster.

 

But if Glauca is successful, Lucis will be crippled beyond belief.

 

Surely they could overpower him, it's so many against one, even Clarus's own children would have a fighting chance at this point with so much support, right?

 

He assured himself yes- that with him, Clarus, Gladiolus, the handful of Crownsguard that had been patrolling the grounds and Cor, there is a fighting chance. But the intrusive flashbacks are hitting him now at the worst times, Galahd, Cleigne, Tenebrae, _Sylvia and her children_. He hasn't even needed to cast a spell yet aside from some lightning and fire meant to keep him confined and cornered.

 

This man- _monster_ was going to fall by his hand today like the animal that he is, and not a hair on his boy's head was going to be touched in the process.

 

Glauca seems to begin backing off now, between the mass of attacks on him. Regis realizes he's a fool to think he had cornered someone of the likes of him, thinking he had the upper hand when Glauca was simply revising his strategy.

 

He saw Glauca's head turn, and follows the demons line of sight before his heart stopped dead in his chest.

 

_No. Not Noctis._

 

Not the child he's already cradled bloodied, wounded- _dying_ in his arms too many times before. Not his child of them all. Not the only  one on this forsaken star with Aulea's eyes or smile.

 

He'd rather be damned if there was one more hair harmed on his head. He doesn't care if the gods and all the ancestors were to smite him for what he would do for Noctis. All he cares about is stopping that monstrosity before any more damage is made. He knows he can't prevent the prophecy, but he would be _damned_ before anyone else had even the chance to take his boy away from him.

 

He wants to summon Ramuh, summon _Bahamut_. He would even take Leviathan or Titan despite the damage they would deal to the Wall, but he did not hear them in the confines of his mind under the wild cacophony of his ancestors all screaming at him. 

 

The voices are calling from the ring and there's no coherent thought in his head. Just instinct is moving his limbs - _and he warps._

 

Suddenly, he's between his son and Glauca just in time for him to try and javelin his behemoth of a sword through them, but Regis has his barrier up in time to protect Noctis-

 

-his vision jolts sharply as he falls back to a kneel. There's an icy fire exploding in his chest and he can't think, can't see, can't hear as things are starting to mold together into something from a fever dream. Noctis is screaming behind him, he sees Clarus running towards them, and Cor's eyes tell him everything. He rests his right hand on the sword impaling him and everything is drowned out by the chorus in the ring like trying to hear voices underwater. It's hard to see anything past Glauca's approaching bulk, but from what he can tell, it's chaos.

 

There's a moment where he's staring into the unforgiving wall beneath Glauca's war helmet before he's completely on the ground; it’s almost an inferno of scourge that underlights the black, glossy armor. He almost sees the spark of something else underneath the helmet then, but another sight is blocking his view of it.

 

His vision is jolting again and suddenly his son is kneeling over him now. Regis is grabbing his little boy's hand and is just begging him to take the ring and run while he can. With the kings on his side, he could stand a chance. Maybe.

 

But the voice of his son is pulling him from his mind.

 

"Dad!! No dad, stay with me. Come on-" He's forcing the ring into his sons hand now, and Regis isn't sure if it whether or not it was too big for his sons destined fingers by the time black spots began eclipsing huge portions of his fading sight. There's no time. He tries again to tell him to run, even though he's almost sure that it's for naught. The ancestors will probably do everything in their power to keep him safe, he knows it, but he's still not sure if it'll be _enough._

 

He realizes that he's partly pulled into his boy's lap now, and he can only think of how the tables have turned. When Noctis protected him, it nearly cost him his life; but now that he's protected Noctis, he's still left him nearly defenseless, hunched over an old man like a sitting duckling. It’s a terrible thought to have before blackness overtakes his vision, but the only comfort he has is the warmth around him and the receding of his pain as his mind draws blank. He almost physically feels his body drop into the void as his eyes close and the world becomes that void wholly.

 

His last thought was one of defeat, that he had failed his duty and his only son. He accepts his fate for his soul to join the crystal with his ancestors, and prepares to meet the disappointed look of his own father again.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

Clarus is almost petrified in his shock, in all honesty.

 

Almost.

 

If not for his instincts and years of muscle memory, he doesn't know what he would do other than take Regis and _run_.

 

Glauca doesn't even speak as he emerges through the foliage, the unholy red magic lights beneath the dark, branching armor outlined his imposing stature as he stalks into broad sunlight. The silence seemed to freeze the air around them in its tension before he just hoists up his massive sword and unleashed an inhuman war cry before sprinting over, each step crushed down the bushes and pathway underneath his feet seamlessly.

 

The shield's mind flashes back to what had happened to Noctis not too long ago (it had been nearly months ago, but he was still healing, as were they all, in their own ways) and he still remembers the rage that he had seen that day. For a moment, his eyes flickered to Regis. He saw that some of that rage was still there; boiling and festering like fresh lava, as if had never left and they were still standing on the bloody dais of the throne room. Regis summons the Armiger then, blue fractals of magic converging into the swords that now were hovering above their heads, feeling the pull of magic into the air around them as they collectively braced for the impact of the demon's sword only moments before it hit the barrier.

 

From then, Clarus had no time to think because his mind was moving too fast for the past _minute? Hour?_ \- whoever knows how long its been- and halts like a full speed train into the ground when Regis had warped out of his line of sight.

 

_Six above Regis, don't do something stupid._

 

But Clarus had known his friend too well for too long and knew _for a fact_ that his internal prayer was already in vain.

 

Because Noctis was in trouble, and that was all it takes for the father to lose any sense of composure (and any piece of Six damned _sense_ while he was at it) and be ready to open the gates of hell for his boy _._ He almost wonders if he'll meet one of the Six today, but thinks the better of it when he imagines the possible damage that would be dealt to the Castle and the Wall as a result.

 

Clarus could warp, yes, but not to the degree like the royal family nor any of the Kingsglaive could, despite all of the years of training, practice, and effort, it all seemed to have been in vain for a time like now, when he sees Regis warp in towards-

 

_Oh, Regis no-_

 

Time is slowed while his heart is racing as the scene unfolds before his eyes. He sees Glauca- and the massive sword in his hand- and sees it miss Noctis because suddenly it's _Regis who's there and the shield he's putting up is behind him and he's taking the blow for his child_.

 

He sees Glauca's sword slice effortlessly through the shield of Armiger weapons that his King threw up in front of him haphazardly at the last second. Clarus feels his world fall to the ground beneath his feet faster than his king could.

 

His blood is ice in his veins now and he's almost certain his heart's stopped completely in his chest. He can't think, can't breathe, but he's running over to them and amidst the hell breaking loose. The sword in his hands hasn’t disappeared yet, but it serves only as a mild comfort as he sees Cor running as well.

 

Noctis is curled over his father under the barrier and it's taking half of the present Crownsguard to get some distance between the Royals and the General. Regis's mouth is moving and he's holding his son's hand- he's alive, but still in grave danger. Noctis is summoning magic and funneling it in to his father at nearly an alarming rate.

 

(The moment his mind chimes in that it may not be enough to save him, is the same moment he stomps that thought into the ground and crushes it under a mental heel.)

 

Clarus, for all his inability to warp, was still intimately attuned to the Ring's magic, and was able to slide through the King's barrier and kneel at Regis's side. And-

 

The damage is nothing short of devastating.

 

Noctis is lost for words just like him, but the prince who is young enough to be his own child is holding it together now better than he is. He's funneling healing magic into the man's chest in his lap and Clarus is hit with a nauseating wave of déjà vu. One member of the Royal Family - _the one he was supposed to protect as his birthright-_ is lying helpless before them while the other member is holding the Ring and probably near stasis with the sheer amount of magic he sees flowing into a singular body.

 

He can't panic- he _won't_ panic. Not when chaos is breaking loose and the man he's always looked after is crumpling before his eyes and he needs to keep it together. It's the only way to get them all out alive. When the King can't think, he has to think for him.

 

He was prepared this time around, though, and pulls out some potions from his belt and crushes it into his king's terrifyingly still hands.

 

The chaos around them is suddenly muted then, when he feels his friend take a shuddering breath, emerald eyes pale and wide open as he arches slightly, and Clarus hates how bright the blood on his Regis's cheek stands out in contrast. He steels himself as he plans an escape route as a voice derails his speeding train of thought.

 

"Clarus. Take dad to the healers as fast as you can, take Cor with you, and _run._ " The tone of authority from the Crown Prince gave him no room to argue, even if he wanted to. The bleeding had stopped, but he wasn't a fool to think that he was safe yet. Neither was the prince.

 

"Your highness, you must come with me, we'll need to escape-"

 

He was interrupted when he looked up to meet the contrast of violet eyes behind the messy black bangs.

 

"I am _not_ running. Take my father, and take him to the infirmary. _Now_. I'll take care of Glauca." Regis is being shifted into his arms now, and what he wouldn't give to have had Weskham or Cid with them. He gingerly maneuvers and nods to Cor, before seeing Noctis slide on the Ring of the Lucii onto his middle finger.

 

There's a resulting earthquake in his chest and mind, but its otherwise an almost seamless transition of power, nothing like when Regis took the ring from his father. It's more akin to a thunderclap that resounds in every vein in his body, and it’s a rush of adrenaline that he's never felt in all his years as the King's Shield.

 

Well, almost. 

 

Of course, Noctis always has to be different, hasn't he? Yet, he's truly his father's son; ready to rain down heaven and the Astrals for whoever stood in the way between the Kingdom, their family, and safety. But Noctis is still a little more different from his father.

 

Clarus is hit with a revelation when his eyes met Cor's yet again- and suddenly they remember that the Prince of Lucis wasn't just a Prince with the Ring of the Lucii in his hands. The Ring won't be passed on to his children- _it was to be passed on to him._ Suddenly, Clarus feels as though Noctis, once the boy whose cradle he personally guarded with Cor, was no longer in need of any protection.

 

From there, violet eyes turned red, and Clarus knew that Glauca would die today. His concentration is focused by another staccato breath by Regis, reminding him of the pressure that's building in the air now. He makes a decision and prays to the Astrals alive and dead that he's making the right one in this moment.

 

Clarus stands tall with his king, struggling to breathe, too limp to be asleep _, his best friend and brother_ in his arms, _and he runs._

 

 

..................

 

 

He's feeling the world stop in this moment, as well as his father's heart.

 

Gladiolus wishes so hard in this moment that he could warp, that he could have been the one to protect Noctis. His Majesty and him were supposed to be _safe._ But he sees his father and Cor sprinting away with the King in his father's arms and-

 

 

Gladiolus feels the ground underneath him shake _and he doesn't want to look_ at what else is happening. He doesn't think he could afford a distraction now that the demon that probably just killed the King is five feet away from him and they're almost trading blows right now.

 

He still has magic though, he can still feel it running through him and his sword is still in his hands, but he's not sure for how much longer.

 

Glauca is currently distracted by him and the Crownsguard as he hears hails for the Kingsglaive over his earpiece. But it seems that they're on the other side of the damn city returning from a mission; and even though it sounds like they're hauling ass regardless, it's going to take time that they don't really have. Ignis is already on his way with reinforcements and the castle is taking defensive measures as he's dodging and cleaving.

 

Where in the Six is Drautos when they needed him?

 

He lugs his sword and looks for Noctis in his periphery. Noct's nowhere to be found. Good. He assumes that he's following the protocol and left with his father and the King, but he doesn't want to leave and be proven wrong. The last thing he needs to do is leave Noctis vulnerable again, he's spent enough nights reliving the ballroom incident, and he'd rather not have more fuel to his nightmares.

 

So Gladiolus adjusts his stance and moves to make another attack from Glauca's blindside.

 

Despite his imposing stature and all his armor, Glauca is a formidable blend of agility and speed. He's almost mowing through them like a fire in a dry field of crops. But they had to be relentless, and keep going at him to give the King and Noctis a chance to escape. They were the Crownsguard, and Gladiolus will happily fulfill his duty.

 

He feels the shattering sensation in his chest before he sees what caused it.

 

It's a strong surge of magic, and it's not the King's.

 

The next thing the young shield knows is that he's flying backwards from the General who's suddenly still, as if frozen in place. Gladiolus knew better than to stay down, but before he could hoist his sword back up with him- there's now a blue phantom sword sticking out of Glauca's dark armor.

 

There's no mistaking it.

 

At first, he thought that it _was_ the king, because who else has this kind of overwhelming magic?  But he shoves the idea down just as quickly; because the king had been taken away by his father to the infirmary, somewhere deeper into the castle and far from this madness. He was somewhere safe with his dad and Cor and far away from the Imperial War Machine that's mowing down Crownsguard like a chocobo through a farmer's field.

 

So who was it?

 

His answer warped to meet the handle of the Sword of the Mystic now solidifying and embedded in Glauca's chest.

 

The contrast between the dark armor and the crystalline sword provided more than enough light for Gladiolus to see his features from this far away. Even though he already knew the answer in the back of his mind, seeing it was another experience in itself.

 

_It's Noctis._

 

He's almost curled up around the ancient sword before pushing his legs off of the armored chest, kicking the general back as Noctis landed with a kind of ease Gladiolus had never seen before. His first emotions are shock and concern. He should be with his father and the King and Cor, not trying to take on the General himself. He needs to stop throwing himself in the line of fire like this and let himself be protected himself for once.

 

But when Gladiolus looked at Noctis again, his mind stopped dead in its tracks as his body moved back.

 

 

The swords of the past kings are around him now, circling and flying dangerously as other ones appear to halo overhead the Prince. While the General is still staggering to his feet, Noctis doesn't waste a moment as he's raising his glowing hand up and then forward, guiding the phantom swords that began to materialize as they outlined his movements.

 

He hears in his comm that Ignis is on his way, but he's so transfixed by the sight of Noctis like this- using the Ring _like his father_ could- that what's said in the comm goes in one ear and straight out the other.

 

The kid he used to beat down on almost three times a week was holding his own _and winning_ against a battle hardened General of the Empire. He was warping and commanding the Armiger like it was breathing to him. The Lucian Prince before him was like how Gladiolus would imagine Regis to be like when he was this young- strong, powerful, and unstoppable. He was moving like a Kingsglaive could-

 

No - _like only a King could_.

 

Noctis materializes the Sword of the Father - _his father-_ in his hands and pulls the tip of the blade to the sky and takes a moment to rest his forehead against it.

 

(Gladiolus questioned if whether or not it was a bad idea to do that, but Glauca was busy wildly backpedaling from what easily could be a few dozen swords from the past kings and queens to try anything.)

 

Gladiolus takes the decision to move a few steps forward, but in the end it's only out of concern for Noctis as both his friend, and his guard-

 

-and what he's presented with is something otherworldly.

 

Noctis's eyes snap open and despite the near twenty meters between them (and the now hundred meters between them and the General), and Gladiolus can't mistake that color other than something inherited form old tales and myths he had been told as a child. Blue eyes that were constantly hiding behind dark bangs were phosphorescent and crimson with the kind of inferno he had only seen from the King when Noctis had been injured.

 

This- _this_ was the magic of the Lucian Kings. It was ancient and almighty and there's a rush spiking through his veins because Noctis is the King of Kings and he's wearing his birthright now. Gladiolus almost wants to look to the sky to see if he could find one of the Six up there waiting for Noctis ' order, but he can't even move his eyes from the sight before him.

 

Noctis warps into the fray of swords without hesitation, causing an almost concussive blast when his and the General's swords meet.

 

At this point all Gladiolus and the rest of the Crownsguard can do is not interfere and evacuate the premises of any civilians they can find. Gladiolus took a minute to try and contact his father, but cursed when he only found static on the other end of the comm line.

 

This is when it hits him now, in almost full force.

 

When Noctis had jumped into the crossfire for his father, all Inferno broke loose because it had been the first time it's happened. But for Regis to jump into the crossfire for Noctis in front of half the Crownsguard, Gladiolus and his father? No one wanted to see Noctis hurt again, but had the prince ever seen his father do that for him?

 

Suddenly, the young Shield understood the fear underlying the rage, and what it was like for his father to stand by the King's side the night Noctis had been shot. He feels powerless again, only able to minimize the civilian damage and just stay out of the way while this unfolds. One member of the Royal Family (who was supposed to be _protected at all costs_ ) is fighting for his life again while the other is opening the gates of the Inferno on the attacker with magic, the Armiger, and the resounding sensations of wild magic that weighed down the air around him. He can only watch as the magic of his almost godly ancestors, the crystal, and quite possible the Astrals themselves fuse with Noctis's to unleash something of the likes Gladiolus could only imagine to be divine judgement upon Glauca.

 

Gladiolus almost feels that he's in his father's shoes so personally that he didn't want to look down and see himself in patron Shield's royal garb.

 

He just summons his sword, hopes that the King would survive his injuries, and follows the sound of the battle.

 


	2. But Now He's Caught in the Crossfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh gosh i completely forget how everyone was here for Crossfire I. Words literally can't describe how much I love and value you all, literally.
> 
> HERE HAVE SOME ANGST!!

\------------------------------------------------

 

The force that rocks them is not normal.

 

Usually, the moment their vehicles got within a few miles from the capital city, it would be quiet. The time needed to reflect on the mission and mentally begin the rough drafts to their reports. They had finished their mission a whopping three days early. The earlier they finished a mission and finished it _properly_ , they had the privilege of spending the remainder of those extra days reserved for a mission off.

 

Usually.

 

Nyx doesn't even need to touch his comm to hear the confusion that was no doubt flooding the shared channel, he's already hearing half of it in front of him.

 

"-What was that?" Crowe wastes no time in calling for a headcount as she swivels her view to meet Pelna in the front seat, who is beginning to brace for impact again. It is not particularly unusual to return back to the city amidst another Imperial attack on the unfaltering Wall, but it's regardless rare enough to raise alarm.

 

"There's Imperials above us!" Pelna's cry over the comm is louder than his voice.

 

"This close to the city??-"

 

"Someone call the captain-" Panic grows in both vans of Kingsglaive as comms are activated and the habit of protocol sets in.

 

Nyx is already on it, though, only to drop a curse when he finds the comm unreachable by the static he receives.

 

"He's not answering. Something's wrong." His head snapped in the direction of Libertus, who had his knuckles white on the steering wheel and laser focused to the road in front of them.

 

But when Nyx tries again, he finds that Gladiolus Amicitia trying to reach his comm. The Prince's shield is not a bearer of good news, and they have to move. _Now._

 

Because somehow, some way, a certain infamous General of the Niflheim Empire had snuck past the wall, into the Crown City, past the guards, past _everyone_ , and made it into the castle and is happily trying to lop away at the Royal family tree like a crazed lumberjack.

 

Nyx grits his teeth and asks if the Commander is with them, and Crowe sees his fist tighten around the comm when he hears the response. The conversation is brief, but dire; Glauca is there, the King is injured but in the hands of his Shield and the Immortal, and Noctis is with them, uninjured.

 

That's when the second force hits them, this time it's more of a distant earthquake they're riding out than a few bumps on the highway accompanying the sounds of war.

 

Then, there's a gasp from Crowe and the other mages, all of them strangely stiffening as one; and it only takes a few seconds later for the rest of them to understand why.

 

There's something shifting in the magic that connects them all; like a wind in the web of magic between them. Nyx knows His Majesty is injured, but this wasn't losing a conduit to their magic; it's something else entirely.

 

Crowe has a hunch as she tightens her fists and rides the feeling out.

 

This is a surge of power that she's never felt before; well _,_ she _had_ once, but it's just been too long. It's similar to the King's magic when she first contacted it, but it's _not._  It's wilder, its stronger, heavier - _concentrated_ , for a better word. The newfound source of magic is running through her veins like adrenaline. It's new and completely unsettling. There's no telling what it could mean, or what it could entail. Her magic _is definitely_ not disappearing, it's just humming now, more like murmur over a whisper in the back of her mind. The last time she felt this was when she had first sworn herself into the Kingsglaive and she had felt the Kings magic amplify her own for the first time.

 

With the King's magic it almost reflected his personality; it was softer, and older like a branching oak tree was, or like a mountain with its steadfast nature, but still undenying in its raw power literally passed down by blood and ancient rite. Like she was wading in a warm ocean. It used to be something she was used to redirecting her own magic to in order to fit the mold of old Lucian magic. 

 

This wasn't a warm ocean though, it was a _storm._

 

This wasn't the King's magic, but she knew better than to play dumb. Noctis must have put on the ring, and if she's right, then they all have a few problems a little more serious than what they're feeling right now.

 

"Nyx-" She didn't even need to yell to get his attention, because she's already halfway to the passenger's side of the driver where he's sitting.

 

"I think Noctis is wearing the Ring." The expression she sees in response to her murmur tells her he had already figured it out.

 

"I know, and I don't think he's just hiding away while he's wearing it, either." He doesn't even try to avoid the sparks lighting up between the space of his outstretched fingers in the air between them. His other hand is at his comm and goes to the common channel as he twists away from her and towards the rest of the van.

 

"Alright everyone, we're receiving reports that General Glauca is in the Castle and is attempting to lay an assault against the Royal Family. The Crownsguard and the Amicitias are on scene, but there's news that His Majesty has been injured during the assault. We don't know to what extent, but our current objective is to get the Royal Castle and provide aid to the Crownsguard so we can take Glauca into custody-"

 

There's a third boom that cuts him off, and it's _way too close for comfort._

 

"Uhh Nyx? Crowe?"

 

"Yeah, Pelna?"

 

"I figured out what's making those sounds. _look outside."_

 

Crowe doesn't know what to expect, but her jaw still drops a little when she peers out the faded tint in the windshield.

 

"It's the Old Wall." she breathes. Crowe had heard stories of it as a child. But they were _stories._ She had always thought that either the magic to command them was lost, or that the whole thing was just a legend. But now she's seeing with her own eyes the gargantuan statue of the Rogue Queen warp into a Magitek Engine and smite it down with a lethal kind of grace she didn't expect it to have for its age and years of desertion. Even from this distance, she can see the stone casing of it crack and fall away with every move it- _she_ \- made.

 

Under the rock and from the distance their vans were from the statues come to life, she could easily see the bright sheen of the dark armor peeking through from underneath. She disappears only to reappear hundreds of feet up and _slam_ herself back onto the battleship in fireworks of crystal magic.

 

She can't believe her eyes now because she's numb and there's _so much magic_ running through her now, that she is only broken from her trance when the van hits shockwaves from the Rogue Queen's warp and they are all nearly sent sideways.

 

The chatter over the comm is in awe and terror of getting caught in the fallout of it, but they're approaching the entrance to the Wall now and part of Crowe wanted to stay outside to watch. To see the full glory of the Old Wall in action like this. She has half a mind to jump out of the van and join the fray despite the obvious risks, but the weight of magic in the air is calling her to follow it. The only thing that stops her this time is Nyx's hand on her shoulder, snapping her out of it as the Walls of the Crown City take away the scene before her and back into the present moment.

 

But as intoxicating as the new magic is, she knows her priorities right now. The Old Wall isn't going to go anywhere anytime soon. Glauca and the Royal Family were too damn close to each other right now, and there's another pulse of magic like a heartbeat in her veins. There's a pulse of ice fear that shoots through her with it, and there is a good chance that Noctis's emotions were projecting right now onto anyone connected with the ring and his magic.

 

And from Crowe can tell, is that Noctis is just protective as his father as he was of the prince. The anger and pain hitting her chest like a train is not her own, but is no more than _an extension of what Noctis is feeling right now_. She doesn't have the luxury of seeing exactly what Noctis is, but she feels the pain and fear wash over her first, before its overwhelmed by power and rage.

 

_Oh Noctis no-_

 

They had to move- _by the Six did they have to move._

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Noctis feels his heart stop in his chest as it all unfolds before his eyes.

 

First, Glauca turns to face him, staring at him with some sort of look he couldn't see through the red light under the armor.

 

Then, the sword was raised so that the tip was only 20 or so meters from his heart-

 

And then suddenly Dad is there, a barrier is up, and they're gonna be oka-

 

_No_

 

_No_

 

_No no no no no no no no no no no n o._

 

_Dad no-_

 

His dad is in front of him- but _there's a sword right there in his father's chest and he's trying to convince himself that this all is just a really, really bad nightmare._

 

He realizes that it isn't a dream when he feels his heart drop to his stomach and his veins running ice cold as this unfolds before his eyes. He's not waking up in a cold sweat in his room, he's panting even though he hasn't run more than twelve feet just to get some extra distance from Glauca.

 

His father falls to his knees while he pulls out the sword _(oh Six there's a sword in his father),_ and Noctis catches him before the rest of him falls and scrambles to drag them behind the barrier was just made. It takes careful movements and focus despite the chaos, but he's able to pull him awkwardly across his knees now so there's a better view of the wound he could only see as a worse conjuring of his deepest fears. His mind is everywhere and telling him to do at least eleven different things while he grabs the hand with the ring and pushes it against the gaping hole in his father's chest and commands it to channel some healing into it. Oh god there's so much blood, there's _so damned much._

 

He doesn't want to look at his father's face now, he didn't want to see a face frozen in terror and his father's own blood marring his face. He just clasped his hand around the larger one, commanded the ring to heal, and pushed all the magic he could into it. He doesn't want to think about how _cold_ his own father's hand is already, he just chalks it up to fear and the numbness keeping him from losing it as he does everything he can to keep dad okay.  It isn't until the hand he's holding twists that Noctis's concentration breaks from the trance of magic that his eyes meet a matching set of frozen emerald wide with emotion.

 

"Dad!! No dad, stay with me. Come on-"

 

"Noctis, no. Take the ring _, and run."_ his father's voice, one that he's heard commanding, calm, playful, and even _fatherly_ , is ultimately desperate and scared.

 

For whom, Noctis isn't exactly sure. He's never heard him like this; so vulnerable. The arching veins and scars of his face are too clearly visible now; shining through translucent skin and lead seamlessly to the branched crown that's barely hanging on to his head. Part of him instinctively wanted to fix it, but he just holds the older hand a little tighter and looks back up to ensure that Glauca wasn't getting any closer. He doesn't want to hear his father like this, he doesn't want to _see_ his father like this.

 

"No, I'm not leaving you!" Is _that_ what his father wanted him to do? No, he was a better son than that, and Dad should have known better than to ask that of him. He's just trying to figure out the best way to carry him out of this mess and to the doctors, he needs Clarus now to help him out. He can do it, he just needs help-

 

"I won't leave you if you take the ring. You can't let it fall into the wrong hands. Don't let him win, don't let us fall like Tenebrae." Noctis's heart almost breaks in his chest when he feels the small metal piece being pressed into his palm. He knows what's being insinuated here, they both do, but he's not ready for it; _he'd never be ready for that_.

 

"Dad, no. No, no, no, I won't abandon you like thi-"

 

"Noctis I love you, but _go!_ " There's frustration in the old man's face now, and the paleness in the green eyes remind him of a dying star. The pit that settles in his chest _hurts_ and it's not just because his dad is trying to push him away. He refuses to abandon anyone or anything right now. His father didn't think twice about defending him when their roles were switched, why should he? Dad's eyes are getting blurry and the grip on his hands are loosening as the King's head rolls back and Noctis almost wants to shake his father awake again. He can't be abandoned like this, he's not going to give up so easily.

 

Suddenly Clarus and Cor are around them. Cor has an elixir and he feels it working as the magic both crest at the sight of the wound. He's looking directly into Clarus's eyes as he's _begging them_ to take his father and go to the infirmary faster than humanely possible. There's still so much blood and he's afraid that he hasn't done enough. Dad's barely breathing and it hard to search for a pulse and Noctis feels nothing more than _helpless_ at the sight, but the metal biting into his clenched palm grounds him and he knows better than to hesitate now. Not when Glauca's too close to him and he knows no one is safe until he puts it on.

 

He watches them as Clarus returns his sword into his armiger, and carefully maneuvers his father into his arms before departing with Cor.

 

The Ring of the Lucii was slick and covered in crimson. He didn't _\- couldn't_ think about how that makes it easier to slip on. But he hears the murmurs in the back of his mind, urging him to put it on and defend himself. He knew who they were; and he knew that it wouldn't be the last time that he would heed their call, nor ask for their help either.

 

One thing was for sure, Glauca was a threat; so long as he's in the Crown City, he and everyone is in danger of falling to the Empire or worse.  He hears the rage of the past kings in the ring, about the audacity of the Empire, of the demon that's in their midst and the threat he posed to their kingdom and people- _his dad -now fighting for his life because he wanted to keep his son safe._

 

There was a kind of anger he's not sure he's ever felt before pounding in his chest now, and he doesn't ignore it. It falls in synch with the ire pounding in the forefront of his mind as he refuses to hesitate.

 

Who was he to deny the will of his ancestors?

 

The ring slips on his middle finger easily, and the murmurs become roars at the forefront of his mind. Time is slowing down but his heart is still racing. He's not exactly sure whether he's feeling the rush of magic from the crystal, the rage that’s boiling in his body now, the weight of his ancestors slamming down on time itself around him, or the sheer outright terror of what he's about to do.

 

There's a blue halo to everything he sees now; from the Crownsguard panicking to get him and his father some time to escape, and Gladiolus fending off the General who's highlighted by the clashing red underlighting his armor. The trees around him have almost disappeared into a navy background and they're replaced with the towering figures of his ancestors in their armor.  Their voices were firm and resolute, but not outright painful to hear. It was booming in the small confines of his mind, but he had accepted it already because what choice did he have at this point?

 

He remembers asking them, nearly pleading for them in his heart for them to lend him their strength. He thinks of all the destruction that Glauca's caused to them, to Tenebrae, to Luna and her brother ( _and their mother)-_

 

**_'O King of Kings. It is time to heed the call of your birthright_ ** **.'**

 

It's a chorus of voices that call to him; ancient, powerful, and resolute that echoes like a clear bell in the forefront to his mind that echoes in every other fiber if his being. He feels weightless as he surrenders himself completely to the magic sparking up in his veins, and he also feels unspeakably powerful at the same time. The power is almost intoxicating, and he wonders if this is what a god feels.

 

The next thing he remembers is this unparalleled surge of power and magic that shoots through him as time returned to its normal speed and he sees the demon glaring him down.

 

The second to last thing he remembers though, was how Clarus carried his father out- hurt, dangling to his life by threads, bleeding out in his son's arms, trying to be a good father and take the blow for him.

 

 - _Dad why-_

 

His hand is tightening around the cold sword pommel that's he's summoned and it feels cathartic. He remembers summoning the Sword of the Mystic and launching it at Glauca. He's letting rage overtake him now, and for once, violence may be the right path now because it's the only one Glauca has left him with.

 

He remembers the calls from those around him, Crownsguard urging him to run, the voices of the kings for him to fight, and the call for vengeance running in his own veins.

 

The last thing he remembers raising his hand to the sky to summon the ire of the crystal and his ancestors in the form of the armiger, looking the General dead in the eyes and seeing nothing but _red._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this was too short, but I've made up for that in the next chapter, loves. See you all next week!!


	3. Now He's Waking Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE BACK BABY  
> Thank you all for your patience!! I have had a hell of a week so I hope this chapter makes y'all happy because local Prince wrecks demon general more news at 9

\----------------------

In long story short, Crowe surmises, how can one formally report that they hauled ass to the castle to fight off one of the single most mortal enemies of their kingdom?

 

The vans usually parked at the Kingsglaive headquarters post-mission, partly adjacent to the towering castle. But now, protocol is thrown to the wind and they take the spots formally reserved for visiting ambassadors at the base of the steps, amidst the throngs of citizens, maids, and servants fleeing from the steps.

 

They can't reach Drautos, and Crowe figures that he's a little too distracted fighting off Glauca to respond, and maybe he's lost his earpiece on the chaos. Either way, she, Luche, and Nyx share the second on command role as squad leaders, and from what the Crownsguard could brief them on as they were racing through the city, it's only Glauca inside the Wall, Regis has successfully made it to surgery, and Noctis is still holding off the General with the aid of the Crownsguard. They don't waste time with formalities, and they take the disorientingly quick elevators to the tenth floor to the gardens.

 

They go over the fine details of their formation during the ride, but as most plans, the finer details tend to go to hell once the chaos gets real, so the rest of the ride is short and an embodiment of the calm before the storm. They collectively brace for what's to come when the doors open.

 

She's worried about him, and after a pointed look to Nyx and Libertus, she's made painfully aware that she isn't the only one.

 

Pelna's shoulders are tight and hunched over, Nyx has both of his kukris out and begging for blood, and Libertus is fiddling with the handles of his potions, almost hesitantly. She also hopes that Noctis isn't injured again, but they know better than to be optimists.

 

She chews the inside of her cheek again and shakes her hands at the wrists. They're _begging_ to cast a spell right now with all the new magic in the air that's no doubt Noctis's, but she has to wait until Glauca's in her sights and her spell is ready to cast.

 

The elevator finally _, finally_ reaches the entrances to the Castle's gardens and she barely hears the voices on her comm over the pounding of the blood and magic in her ears.

 

And once those doors fully open, Crowe is painfully aware that the plan is six feet under and on its way to being a cushion for Ifrit's fiery ass, because what she sees is not what anyone was even remotely prepared for.

 

Everything's pure adrenaline and raw magic now, and she's ready to pounce in front of Glauca and charge at him mercilessly. Nyx seems to share her exact same thought when their eyes meet for the last half second before the doors finish sliding open and they scatter out to take their planned positions.

 

What she knows is that Noctis is using the Ring of the Lucii and fighting off general Glauca, but what she approaches is something _otherworldly_.

 

Glauca is backpedaling _hard_ , crushing plant life under his feet as he is barely fending off what _has to be_ at least fifteen swords from the Armiger, sparking crystal magic upon collision after collision. The fabled swords from the Kings of Yore flicked from spectral flashes of light and magic to the _real, menacing_ weapons of ancient magic she had almost been terrified to see. Her mind is telling her - _screaming at her_ \- to move, but she's almost frozen in place.

 

 

Almost.

 

 

She follows the lead of Nyx, who's stalking the fight in the from behind delicately cultivated trees and flower bushes that had yet to see their demise, trying to get closer without getting caught in the crossfire. But at this vantage point, Crowe is able to see the full scale of the battle.

 

The sight of Noctis is _apocalyptic._ He's the lone figure underneath the glowing halo of the ancient swords of the Armiger; readily warping from one place to the next faster than she can keep up with. For a second, she's almost concerned that he would fall victim to stasis, but the worry is pushed down when she sees the Ring on his finger catch the sunlight. Noctis grabs the star of the Rogue Queen out of the air and warps into Glauca's armor at a lethal angle before rebounding off the general and disappearing into thin air again.

 

Crowe realizes that it's nothing like the bright fractals of magic that burst into the air whenever a glaive warps. When Noctis warps, he leaves a ghost silhouette of him in its wake as he pulls back to give him some space from the General before he strikes again.

 

She's never seen him like this, and by the looks of it, neither has Gladiolus or the rest of the Crownsguard. All of them are trying to stay out of the Prince's warpath as he fights Glauca, partly for their own safety, and partly in awe. They all have no choice but to have as many guns trained on him as possible from the edges of the gardens, and Crowe's pulled Nyx to follow her to a vantage point on low-hanging balcony nearby. A deep part of her mind knows that Noctis isn't going to need someone to warp him out of the way, but its regardless a mild comfort since they'd surely die if either of them tried to intervene before Noctis was done with Glauca. She feels Nyx's presence next to her burn with the need to jump into the fray, the need to be a hero, and to save Noctis from some last minute attack. He's locked in a pre-warp hunch and waits with such an impatience it almost makes her want to smack him into the reality of the situation. Noctis is the last person they need to be worried about protecting right now, but they're there just in case Noctis decides its needed.

 

It isn't long before she finds herself again hypnotized by the battle before her. Ramuh, Noctis is _fierce_ like this. He's almost lost on some holy warpath now, warping with no regard for stasis, hauling swards loaded with magic and warping from one side of Glauca to the other with the animalistic, angry grace a God would have raining down the wrath of the stars themselves. But there's an edge to each movement, aside from the ancient and magic edged swords he controls. The edge comes right when he's about to strike, slightly pulling back before making another blow. It hits her after another moment of watching him; Noctis wants this to last. He wants to draw out the fight, whether to deliver a devastating blow or to give his Majesty more time, Crowe finds herself settling between the two possibilities.

 

He keeps fighting like this for who knows how long, in this holy frenzy of anger under the ancient magic and the phosphorescent glow of the Armiger- _his Armiger_. He keeps warping, slashing, lunging, punishing the shell of the general until he finally manages to detach the helmet from the rest of his armor and when he does-

 

 

_-Oh, oh no._

 

 

Crowe witnesses her life fall apart for the second time in her life because of the empire as she recognizes Drautos-the _real_ Drautos- her actual commanding officer, lying on that ground under the weight of both Noctis and the swords clamping him down. A scream dies before it even reaches her throat as she falls forward onto her knees, her gloved hand clamped over her mouth at what she sees.

 

It's all a nightmare- _it has to be_ \- there's no other way to explain it.

 

She wants to chalk it up to her mind playing tricks on her, she wants to blame how her vantage point, or the sunlight in her eyes when the Glauca's helmet catches it but she sees Noctis's horrified expression match hers.

 

 

She knows who Glauca really is now, and her heart's stopped in her chest.

 

Nyx is _roaring_ next to her and almost loses his balance trying to warp so fast into the middle of it all before Crowe snatches his wrist and nearly pins him down.

 

There's no doubt about it, and yet neither of them can believe it.

 

 

 

\------------------

 

 

 

Cor is a battle hardened man.

 

He has taken lives, saved lives, and on the rare instance, he's fought for his own when there's no one else left to protect. He has taken bullets, daggers, and the blunt of Magitek attacks without a flinch. He has faced the infamous Gilgamesh himself while he was barely a teenager and is the only one who can tell that tale. He has seen death, destruction, and the Astrals themselves bow to Regis's wishes-

 

And now he's watching him- _Regis_ \- the very same man he's always admired and revered beyond king and liegelord- _but as his closest friend and brother -_ lie limp, weakened by the constant drain of the Ring, and barely more than a corpse in Clarus's arms as they sprint to the infirmary. His world is so damn close to crumbling underneath his very feet and he just _keeps running_. The outlined shadow of the Phoenix down Cor slammed onto the exposed chest with his shaking hands is going to haunt his memory for most likely what will be _years_ , but nothing else matters at this point. Cor could be cut down by one of the Old Kings themselves, but _so long as Regis is safe_ he refuses to give a damn.

 

He has nothing but freezing adrenaline in his veins that he has to stomp down so he can coherently focus on the task at hand. Panicking will do nothing but hurt Regis now, and his life may as well be hanging on the decisions he and Clarus have made and _will make_ later today. His sword is sharp and out, baying for the blood of anyone who dares to stand in their way now.

 

He's already called the on-call doctors, nurses, and healers and they're prepping for him as they duck through corners. Cor's scouting ahead for any unwelcome surprises and Clarus is somehow both barreling through the halls like a demon out of hell and carrying their king with careful ease. It isn't the first time that the Immortal has seen the Amicitia tense and in total control of the situation, but he is regardless a sight to hold.

 

His first thoughts are immediate and in the present: get the King to the infirmary, get him to safety, and follow the protocol they've practiced for this kind of situation since they were teens.

 

While his body is moving out of muscle memory and instinct, his next thoughts are of Noctis _\- the prince- because he really did just leave him to fend for himself like that oh no by the Six-_

 

They bust through another set of doors, because they're so close and time is literally the thinning wall between life and death now for Regis, and his King's life may depend on every step he's about to take. This, in all Cor's years as Marshall, Crownsguard, and friend, never happened before. Regis has been hurt in the castle before by assassins; a sprained ankle, a dagger slice along the back of his knee…Six even a _knife to the foot_. But it all pales in comparison to the sheer devastation caused by Glauca.

 

He looks over to Clarus for another half second, and sees the cracking exterior to the stoic man who is doing his best to hold it all together for them both. He doesn’t need to open his mouth to know that Clarus is running on a mixture of past experience, chance, and full blown muscle memory to check down every corridor, stay at least four steps behind him, and speak urgently, yet quietly into his earpiece. He's just likely as afraid for his son's life as well, knowing full well that he's most likely fending off Glauca with the rest of the Crownsguard with Noctis.

 

Another shiver goes down his spine as he relives the surge of power with Noctis putting on the ring. Part of him wants to be proud.  Proud of the little boy he's guarded since birth is unraveling the true extent of his power as the prophesized Chosen King, but there's a pang of fear that strikes his heart mid-step.

 

_What if he's still not ready for it? What if Glauca is still stronger somehow. And Noctis is-_

 

Six, the Prince is still a child in the Marshall's eyes. It's almost yesterday when he remembers holding a babe swaddled in royal silks being carefully guided into his trembling arms by Aulea and Regis. He's still the same toddler who would bring Cor almost nonsense drawings to judge before presenting them to his father. The same child he comforted at the loss of Aulea when Regis had locked himself into his chambers when he had been mad and raw with grief.

 

 _Noctis is a child, still. And he always will be_. The thought echoes within the confines of his mind, resounding as if he had yelled it down the very passageway they were barreling down. Even though he's the Chosen King, even though the Six themselves told Regis that Noctis was going to be the most powerful man Eos will ever see because they need him to be. Even though he is wearing the ring quite literally _made for him_ to destroy every molecule of darkness on the unforgiving star in an equally unforgiving prophecy, Cor is still scared. He's scared that Noctis is still going to get hurt- _going to get killed_ \- because he wasn't there when he needed to be.

 

He sees the entrance to the infirmary at the end of the hall, and the doctors, nurses, healers, and Crownsguard rushing towards them with a gurney, and keeps moving.

 

He remembers the fear he had not too long ago; that Noctis would see a coffin before a crown, but now that fear has evolved into something more real something more likely. The prophecy seems more drenched in blood and tears now than in golden starlit glory, and he wants to match right down to the Crystal himself and throttle answers out of the first God or king he sees, _his immortal title be damned._

 

 

 

 

 

But it takes hours for the blood in Cor's veins to thaw out again, in which so much happens that it almost becomes a haze of yelling, blood, magic, and fear. It's long after Glauca is taken care of, after receiving a report from Ignis and Gladiolus and scraps of what he can from the Kingsglaive, and it's almost too much to process for a single man. Now, Regis is declared as safe, but still unconscious. It's after the King of Lucis was safely moved to his chambers under a heavy Crownsguard detail, after his _oldest and dearest friend_ and closest thing he has ever had to family, is carefully lying on his bed and looks no different from the stone statues of his ancestors. The calmness is jarring to have all of a sudden, but with it always comes a moment of guilt-ridden clarity. There is quite literally nothing else he can do now because he's been ordered to guard the king until Noctis deems otherwise. Cor stands at the side of the bed and really _looks_ at the aftermath and lets his shoulders hunch a little at the sight of a peaceful king on his bed.

 

Regis looks younger in his sleep, but he still looks _worn_. Years of ruling, holding the wall, and bearing the brunt of all their magic's toll has truly aged him beyond his years. The years have slowly stolen Regis of his youth, giving him the appearance of an old and weathered man without the arching crown that makes him appear as lethal as he is, or the royal raiment that commands the attention of everyone in the room, and yet Cor can't help but displace the face he sees with its younger version, smiling mischievously with a plan in those closed eyes.

 

Clarus sits in the chair bitterly to Cor's left, quietly seething under his outwardly calm appearance. On a deeper level, Cor understands; this freak occurrence almost cost them Regis today, and they barely even got the chance to cross swords with Glauca to defend him either. It was all Noctis.

 

Noctis, who's still bears the Ring of the Lucii and is acting King until Regis is healed again. He's only a little younger than Regis was when he inherited the ring from his late father King Mors, so something temporary like this isn't too unreasonable to ask of him. But it still seems to early, too sudden for this. He's more than aware he's being a hypocrite, but keeping the royal family safe has never been so unnecessarily difficult.

 

A small part of Cor wonders if they could let Regis retire early, live to see the  grandchildren he's already been pestering his son for. Cor almost sees it; a happier Regis, free from the curse of the ring, balancing a babe or two in his lap and trying to read them a bedtime story with the same voices he used for when Noctis was no more than a chubby mass of giggles and hair. He can't fight the smile the idea brings him and sits next to Clarus with a heavy sigh.

 

Reality is hitting him again, pulling the corners of his lips down and a calculating mask over his expression, and Noctis is far beyond the small babe he used to be.

 

"How did this happen. Clarus?" He hears the sound of his own voice, and feels the tired ache in his bones as well.

 

"The same as every assassination attempt runs,' The head of the Crownsguard thumbs the small paper cup of his tea as he continues, "only this time, they sent _Glauca_." His voice is heavy with grim, but the edge in his voice tells Cor otherwise. It's frustration that they share in this moment; because no matter how many scenarios they run, how many backup plans they form, nothing would have prepared them for something, _anything_ , like this. The damage has never been this devastating, Regis's life has never been so at stake- their friend almost had died today, and neither of them can bear to think about how this day could have gone differently. They in the best scenario right now, they just have to make the most of it; it's the only thought that stomps down on the other, darker, more painful scenarios that could have been, and lets them focus on the present.

 

The good news is that Noctis is safe now, at least according to Gladiolus. Glauca is locked deep, _deep_   within the most magic imbued dungeon with "more swords in him than Bahamut has". They know his true identity now, but they're still waiting for Noctis to deliver the news personally because they still don't know who to trust yet.

 

"Who do you think Glauca really is, Cor?"

 

The Marshall takes a moment and considers his memory without the adrenaline stunting his processing. His question hangs in the air with the same weight as the horrors he's seen the Empire cause.

 

"I have a hunch, but it mostly had to do with how he hurled that sword at Noctis." Cor only needs one sideways look from his brother before he continues. "I've seen it before, but I can't exactly place _where_ just yet. It's almost a Kingsglaive warp, but not quite. The way they warp is all beaten into them the same exact way, and it's not like the armor would get in the way of that form either." He indulges himself in pacing across the generous space of the room, his nervous energy nearly fighting with the Shield's quiet frustration.

 

"And all of the Kingsglaive members were all on their way back from a mission just today, and that was three days earlier than what was expected of them. They were just reaching the outskirts of the city when it began, and the only ones who weren't a part of that mission were too injured to have possibly moved like that... Maybe a council member? They all can warp just like the Glaive. I honestly would not be surprised, what with all the infighting they’ve been inflicting on us." Cor rubs the shadow growing on his face in thought, giving the rough edges to his face a chance to feel something after sitting quiet for so long.

 

"No, it would be too satisfying. Most of them are either too old or too petty to pull off something like this. At most, one or two may have had a hand in getting him into the castle, but I can't believe I am underestimating them by saying that either." The secrecy is killing him like a weak poison, it's nauseating, and he needs it to end soon.

 

"Somehow, I think it's more than just 'one of our own" He says, to quote Gladiolus. "Once Noctis took off his helmet, he placed it back on and ordered no one else to look. The few who have seen it are sworn to secrecy and don't seem to be leaving his side anytime soon."

 

"Sometimes, the loyalty he can stir within those around him baffles me." Clarus leans back and takes another sip of his tea with a sigh.

 

"It's as though he's inherited it from another Caelum, along with a habit of losing any shred of common sense and _jumping in the crossfire_ when there is danger nearby." Clarus finishes his thought with a pointed look to the man on the bed. Any stranger would assume that Clarus was considering to smother their very powerful, and very benevolent king with a pillow in that very moment, but Cor sees clearly through the façade and sees the worry tracing the wrinkles in the Shield's forehead. Clarus is more than just as terrified as he is, the Shield has just had more experience hiding it from others.

 

Only a few moments of silence pass between them before the door opens and the Prince himself nearly barrels through the door. Cor nearly does a double take at the Prince's appearance as his hand drops from the sword at his hip.

 

Noctis has a wild look in his eyes, the kind that he saw in Regis only after commanding a god to his will; and the violet magic that still lingers casts a halo around the normal color in his eyes.  And Ignis seems to have yet again made a logical choice when he brought a spare change if clothes for Noctis to change into.

 

His hair was tucked into the Prince's war crown. Not the kind that he avoids wearing to some council meetings, not the half crown his father wore that reminded everyone of their close ties to the Six themselves, but the full blown battle crown that a Lucian Prince would wear into the thick of the fighting. The rest of his suit included dress pants, a black button up shirt rolled up to his elbows under the caped shoulder guard his father normally wears.

 

Had his hair been curlier and those eyes been green, Clarus would have been _convinced_ that he had stepped through time to days long past. It reminds him of the creaks in his bones and the ache in his soul. Oh how time has flown by them all-

 

"How is he?" The young child he's sworn to protect has a little bit of fear and his mother's tone creeping in at the edges, and Cor is able to pick up his voice as he ridgidly rises. Looking the Prince in his eyes makes the age in his bones weigh twice as heavy as his robes.

 

"He's going to be fine, thanks to you. The healers have already told us to expect a full recovery…What happened out there? Who was Glauca?" The question hangs like a dagger in the air, and Clarus sees the betrayal in the Prince's tightened fists as his posture tightens. Clarus's eyes flash to the door again to find it closed and manned by his own son with an almost frustrated look in his face. Clarus finds himself leaning forward on the seat as he waits for the Prince to _out with it already-_

 

-"Drautos. _Drautos_ was Glauca _._ I removed his helmet myself in the gardens, and Ignis has already sworn those who have seen it to secrecy."

 

Shock nearly makes Clarus fall forward out of his chair, but he catches himself by wedging his elbows to his thighs and supporting his forehead in the palm of his hand as the chill of the truth racks the whole room.

 

Cor's scoff of disbelief is the audible response.

 

"How… _How?_ After all this time, after all those Kingsglaive missions, after all these years?" Cor is almost yelling sensitive information now, even though Clarus has the exact same thoughts running through his mind. Drautos, of all people, had been one of the last people he would suspect, given all the kills he's made and all the campaigns he has spearheaded himself.

 

Something else in the back of his mind is calling to him to action, but first, he has some theories.

 

"And yet somehow it makes perfect sense." Clarus feels the attention of the room on him when he breaks his silence, and he sits straight again. There is a beat of silence that hits him while he gathers his mind to think and present his theories as they're forming.

 

"Think about his track record, think of how he's always been able to maneuver through enemy territory unharmed, how he had 'reliable sources of spies' for information on the enemy's whereabouts, how the Kingsglaive is always mysteriously away on a mission when there's a major 'unexpected attack' on either the castle, Regis, or Noctis. How else could Glauca have known about our encampments and where to send hordes of MTs to keep us from making any advancements for _years?_ "  
 

The more the Shield of the King thinks about it, the more he wants to march down to that dungeon himself and run every one of his ancestral shields through that _demon_.

 

"For him to attack now… it almost makes perfect sense." The idea of it and the ramifications makes his blood boil, but the logic is sound.

 

"Care to elaborate?" Cor is quieter as he prods this and he reseats himself. Noctis takes a long and uneasy look at his father before sitting at the edge of the bed carefully, edging closer little by little.

 

"Think of the timing. Noctis is healed enough that he can walk again without a cane, and the Ballroom Attack has only _just_ faded into recent memory. Its long enough that the Crown has just loosened up on the tightened guard schedules to what they used to be, but Regis and Noctis still spend family time together… The more I think about it the more dangerous attempts can be explained….. given the current information…" He hangs the accusations in the air bitterly with a vague wave of his hand as he sees both his son and Cor tense at the same time. 

 

He looks over to Regis's boy, and sees the reaction firsthand.

 

The untrained eye would say that the Prince is carrying himself like a Lucian King would; the proud posture is there, the ring gleams in a holy anger and his expression is cold. But to Clarus, who has seen every expression he's inherited from both his parents, sees the same young boy that has been nearly dead in his father's arms countless of times before, and sees his posture is straight because he's frozen stiff in fear of the snake that's been hiding in their homes this whole time. Those heavy eyes are blank because he is replaying the Maralith, the Ballroom attack, and damn near trying to connect every other assassination attempt to the man they once trusted with their lives.

 

Noctis, for all his magic and prophecy, is still _a damn child who is too young for this shit._ He's too innocent to have that blood encrusted ring on his hand, too kind to be thrown to demons and assassins left and right, and be the chosen soul of the gods no matter his age, and Clarus just can't stand bearing witness to all of this anymore.

 

He nearly startles Cor with how fast he's out of his seat. His eyes nearly fly his own son in the corner and realizes how much more he was there for him and Iris when Regis had almost less than half of such time for Noctis. All of them seemed to be valid reasons: because of the war, because they lost Aulea too soon, and because the Gods were selfish bastards who only care about themselves, but it still did not feel like it was _enough_. They had been turning the tide in the war, but that seemed to bring them only more trouble, more infighting in the Council, more assassination attempts, more strife amongst the politicians, and more drain from Regis to tend to all of those needs and the needs of the Wall, powering the Glaive, the Guard, and trying to lead them all out of this damn war.

 

_Six above Regis, look at the mess we've made him inherit._

 

He doesn't know what more he could do but place a hand on the young prince's shoulder to comfort him. But he knows Noctis's refusing to break down in front of them all, still trying to fight the shine in his eyes from breaking free onto his cheeks. Noctis would a refuse an embrace now, the only exception would be from the man Clarus swore to protect with his final and dying breaths.

 

"Why, though? Why after all this time, did he go after us _now?_ He had so many chances over the years, why now? They're losing as we speak." His highness's shoulders nearly shake in what is either, fear, rage, or a mixture of both and a realization hits Clarus then, in full force.

 

Now, Clarus has been protective of the royal family his entire life, it is a thing he's always prided himself in. He's seen Noctis from the day he was born and teased Regis about crying over him for days. But today brings him the moment he _finally understands_ Regis's fierce overprotective love for Noctis when he looks at him.

 

 _Noctis is almost alone in this world without his father._ He has Luna, possibly thousands of miles away, the old kings, who are too busy fantasizing about murdering Glauca now, young Argentum, who hasn't been raised to understand the hardship of royalty, and his parents, or, rather the lack thereof. Noctis and Clarus's own son still have quite some time before they develop the proper bond between King and Shield. Regis in on that bed now when it should have been Clarus the boy is trying to hold it all together without a proper support underneath him. Clarus can't afford to sugarcoat the truth either, but that doesn't stop him from trying to gently deliver his blow.

 

"They wanted to turn the tide of the war at the last minute, it seems. They expected for him to sneak in and get to you both without anyone ever knowing, destroy the wall and leave us all defenseless. He even had the perfect disguise to walk right in and out without anyone ever even questioning him." The more he speaks, the more Clarus _seethes_. Their walk through the gardens had been a last minute attempt by Regis to spend some time together.

 

Who knows what could have happened if Glauca had stumbled upon Noctis taking a nap? He steels his stomach at the thought of it and looks to the young man before him. Noctis is less than half his age, and he's doing better than him and Cor in hiding his true feelings. His face is neutral again and the war crown in his hair reflects the sterile light as his head turns to his father, almost, but not quite, breaking the regal mask he's been doing his best to uphold. 

 

"Nevertheless, they still didn't win. Your father will be just fine, and you wear the Ring. As far as the public knows, Glauca is just a demon in armored skin, we must be careful about how we break this news to the public. Until then, and while your father is fully recovered, you are acting king, Noctis, and no matter what happens, we must show the public a strong and united front."

 

" We should also show a loyal front too." He's bitter, but Clarus can't blame him, he was nearly slaughtered by someone he thought he's known his entire life, someone who has literally guarded his bedroom door some nights. He feels Noctis leaning into the hand on his shoulder, and Clarus waits for an embrace he never gets. He's trying to be strong and hold a kingly front for their sakes.

 

"We'll be by your side, so there won't be any doubts about that." Cor interjects and takes the words right out of Clarus's mouth as he moves closer to him and the Prince.

 

"I'll begin to interrogate Glauca at once- by your command, of course." Clarus blinks at Cor's quick addition tacked on to the end of that statement. Noctis is no longer going to have to answer to them, until Regis is back on his feet, they will have to answer to _him._ He's not sure if he should be comforted, or scared.

 

"No. You'll wait for me. I want to be there in case he manages to weasel his way out of his restraints. I also can't believe that normal techniques can be used on a man possessed by a demon. " The tone in his voice drops as Clarus gets the implication. Noctis is truly his father's son; kind and benevolent until he is angered. Few Lucian Kings were known for their temper, because it's always the kinder kings that have left more bodies on the warpath and more devastation in their wake. Clarus looks at Noctis and his mind flashes back to how Regis was when Noctis had been shot. The phosphorescent halo never left the outer edges of his eyes, making them both commanding, entrancing, and downright terrifying for anyone crossing his path.

 

Noctis, despite the stiffness in his posture, carefully maneuvers around Clarus and to his father's bedside. Clarus knows to look away to give them a small semblance of privacy, and silently stands watch.

 

Regis had always loathed the relationship he had with his father, and he remembers a drunken oath one night to never, _never_ be anything like that man. And something in the way he watches the Prince tenderly pick up his father's hand and press their foreheads together tells him that Regis did _damn well_ on that oath. It's another moment before he raises himself back up to full height and turns to Cor and Gladiolus with the same mask he's also seemed to inherited from the man on the bed. He nodded to Cor and Gladiolus and begins to take his leave, but not before Clarus is able to call out one more thing.

 

"Be safe, Prince Noctis. And come back soon, you'll be the first thing he wants to see when he wakes up."

 

"I know, I won't be long, call me the second he starts to wake up." He leaves after the promise is made, and Clarus is left with only an unconscious king and his thoughts. He takes a seat and takes another look at the closest thing he's ever had to a brother.

 

He doesn't miss the small carved figurine that Noctis had slipped into his father's loose grip, and nearly chuckles.

 

Knowing these two particular members of the royal family, they would need all the help they could get from that smaller sized Astral.

 

 

 

\---------------------

 

 

 

Regis woke unlike how he did most mornings: at peace, and slowly.

 

He felt his head being pillowed by something soft and fluffy as he gently roused himself. He heard the rustle of trees and the smell of the grass he's in and wondered if the afterlife has always been so peaceful and welcoming to an old man like him. He's calm, and at peace for once.

 

Has his head ever rested upon something so soft like this before? It's quite heavenly. Unlike anything he's ever used before.

 

It's quiet and peaceful here; there's the distant sound of dawn and chirping birds and the warm, soft thing supporting his head is slowly shifted-

 

Wait- Why did his pillow move like that? Pillows were not meant to move like this. Up and down, even accompanied by a little purring sound. It only takes a moment for him to realize why.

 

_Because it's breathing and oh, that's not a pillow-_

 

The realization shot his eyes wide before he catapulted himself upright and cautiously turned to meet the gaze of shining eyes slowly blinking awake. Its small body unfurled from where the king's head had been resting, white and small. Its tiny red horn was crested between white, almost wing-like ears and its thick tail swung around it as it sat down to look up at him.

 

The creature was unmistakable, its color, size, _everything_ gave the king the answer to his unformed question.

 

"Carbuncle?"

 

It - _Carbuncle_ \- stood up at the name and he felt his phone vibrate. He picked it up out of sheer curiosity to read the text message. How was there even cell service in this - wherever it even was?

 

## Hi there King Regis! I'm glad you know who I am!! ##

 

The king's eyes flickered between the screen and the creature sitting patiently before him, waiting for his reaction. He chuckled as a swell of emotion bloomed in his chest, shook his head, and a soft smile graced his features.

 

"Of course I would know you," Regis knelt down to scratch behind the animal's? creature's? - _Guardian's_ soft ears as he murmured with a heart heavy with an old burden.

 

"How could I forget the one who saved my son, when no one else could?" Those days seem both to be long ago, and like yesterday, when Regis didn't need his knee brace, but some celestial aid saved his boy when he was almost lost to him. Those were desperate times for them both, but regardless, and thankfully, in the past. Carbuncle's soft head tilted up as the king continued scratching under the guardian's chin, feeling the white body vibrate with purrs before the King halted to stand up tall, taking in the green dreamscape around them. It looked a little too familiar to Tenebrae's dense jungle, surely his son also woke up to this, scared and alone and so young, too young to go through something like this. There's a pang of pain in his chest now, and Regis knows that his physical wounds did not travel with him to this world. It is the pain that only came from his love for his child.

 

Noctis. He had to get back to Noctis. So long as he isn't dead, he'll find a way to get back to his boy. He had to wake back up. Wizened, and emerald eyes met Carbuncle's with desperation.

 

"I'm sure you know why I'm here, my friend. How can we get back?" Carbuncle's large tail is swept from side to side, as if it had been waiting for him to ask.

 

## I know the way! But we have to hurry!!## Carbuncle is jumping to emphasize that they needed to make haste, but Regis couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the white, fluffy guardian bouncing up and down like that.

 

It's easy for the king to see why he was the guardian of children and innocent; he was perfectly small, friendly, and nonthreatening, perfect for leading small children out of the throes of dreamworlds like the one they are standing in now. But his only wonder is _why him?_

 

He doesn't want to stop and ask, for fear of Carbuncle disappearing before his very eyes. But as an old king, it's obvious that he's neither a child nor innocent, so why is he, of all those who prayed to the guardian spirit for guidance, chosen?

 

He isn't dead, as far as he knows. Likely because there's probably no cell reception in the afterlife, as well as Carbuncle being ten steps ahead of him, urging for him to follow so he could get back to the material world. His soul isn't lost to the dimension locked within the Crystal, or he would surely be facing down his father's disapproving look once again. He also knows that this is too peaceful to be the inside of that damned rock; otherwise he would surely be swarmed with the past kings or at least not a guardian spirit trying to help him get back to the real world.

 

He honestly has no idea how time passes in this dreamscape relative to the real world, but the last thing he wants to do is test it.  Noctis had been asleep for almost a whole year in the real world, and there's no telling of how much time has already passed for them both by now. The next thing the King is aware of is how he was able to run so effortlessly to keep up the disappearing form of the Guardian.

 

But, there's a lot of reasons for him to be running like this; one of them is that his body was without pain now, not from his knee, or his age, or any old wounds he's hoarded over his time as king. It allowed him to make the long and encompassing strides not unlike he used to some thirty-odd years ago. Another reason, he reminded himself of earlier, was that he's completely unaware of how much time is passing in the real world with every step he takes, he doesn't want to wake up months later like it took from Noctis- because he has no idea how much longer he indeed does have with his boy-

 

The most pressing reason that his strides are like he's flying is because his last memory is of his little boy refusing to give up on him and trying to protect him again. Noctis- hiding under a barrier he threw up and him begging Cor and Clarus  His son- _his precious life in danger to protect his father-_ is the most pressing and forefront reason for him to waste no time.

 

Another, deeper, darker, reason presses his lungs against his chest as one landscape flows seamlessly into another under his feet.

 

_Glauca._

 

His mind's voice hisses the name with an ancient and bitter contempt. Should Regis be able to salvage what he's potentially lost and come out of his alive- he knows that he'll return as a man with almost nothing to lose and a willingness to destroy everything in his path if anything happened to his boy.

 

He thinks of the Ring of the Lucii no doubt fulfilling its duty from the moment he ripped off his finger and curled his sons' around it, and that fact that Glauca was nearly successful at killing his son-

 

- _he rages._

 

He realizes that not all sensation in his body is numbed by the dreamscape when white hot anger makes him run a little faster, jump a little more recklessly, and almost ignore everything except what's directly in his path and where Carbuncle is leading him.

 

Glauca will pay for this, if he isn't already dead by the time he wakes up. His mind, body and what is left of that creature's wretched soul will pay. The Kings of Yore have always been borderline fanatical about keeping their little prince safe. He knows that they'll tear the demon apart inch by inch themselves. Regis himself has no intention of keeping them from it. No, far from it, he'd much prefer to be there in person while it happens than in spirit alongside his forefathers.

 

Regis wants vengeance, and to keep Noctis safe.

 

A small voice of his mind is voicing ideas as he sprints, and for the first time in months, he's starting to listen again.

 

\-------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh not exactly the happiest with this chapter, but oooohhhhh welllllllll  
> Thank you all for reading and giving me your love! your sweet comments give literally the world to me


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY! I'M ALIVE

 

If Nyx's back was any stiffer, then he'd surely become one with the stone wall behind his back by the time he'd be relieved of his duties. He's stoic and steadfast in his position, and he's not sure if he's ever wanted to go berserk any more than now at this guard post.

 

The restlessness curling his muscles tight is a torture itself, making his shoulders stiff and him constantly fighting the urge to move. It's worse when it's paired with the mental gymnastics he's been doing to think of doing anything else but walking right into the chamber he's guarding to commit outright treason against Noctis's wishes.

 

No, not his wishes, but his _orders_.

 

His mind flashes to traumatic events that were too recent and too real to be a part of a nightmare, and

He's too angry to feel the lone breeze of air through the other end of the long hallway whisper onto his face, but he's also tense enough to accidentally commit murder if Pelna decides to sneak up on him again.

 

The entire Kingsglaive had been brought in for questioning by some of the King's closest. No one else has been arrested for as far as he knows, but regardless, the seed of doubt has been planted, and the paranoia is spreading like an unwanted weed. The news that Glauca's true identity as someone previously close to the King has spread faster than wildfire, and now no one seems trustworthy, and almost everyone seems like the face under an MT's suit. No one wants to trust each other right now, when they need to be at their most united, and Nyx feels like they're all collectively an open nerve, ready to lock up and overreact at the slightest touch.

 

 If this is what the Empire wanted by sending Glauca, then _by Six_ they're getting it. The tension between what should be a seamlessely working machine that's run through scenario after scenario like this has a Drautos sized wrench in it that's throwing everything into a near nuclear meltdown.

 

His thoughts flash to the King and Noctis. Neither of them are helpless, but right now they need both Kingsglaive and Crownsguard to not look to each other for enemies and get their act together. He is still one of the only few who knows, and the handful of others who were aware were also immediately sworn to secrecy when they reported what they had seen to Noctis. They all knew the oaths were a formality because of the unspoken shitstorm that would surely come if word were to come out. 

 

If the _truth_ were to come out.

 

So he rolls his shoulders in an attempt to steel himself, and waits.

 

And waits.

 

And slowly loses his mind a little more with each passing hour he's planted at his post.

 

He's been told that he'll get a replacement in either a few hours or when they've investigated enough suitable replacements to take his post. He isn't sure if it's more of an investigation or an interrogation, almost all lines are blurred at this point. He's not sure if they'll ever admit Glauca's true identity as Drautos, it would be easier to lie and say it was a former Lucian, or a brainwashed soldier, or even just another successful attempt by the empire to create an inhuman bioweapon. A simple bend of the truth would avoid panic easily, keep more faith in the crown, and make the castle seem more impenetrable than it is. That the King always has been surrounded by those loyal and protecting to him, regardless if they were as kind to the people as him. 

 

Deep down, Nyx used to blame the King, or the Emperor Iedolas, or even the war as a whole for the dark nights the Kingsglaive would spend drowning their feelings in drinks, the cold feeling he gets every time he steps into the vans for a mission, or the panic that would set in every time he would lose sight of his brothers in arms on the battlefield. He thought that an old king who could bend gods to his will, erect protection for over a million innocents, and had resurrected a forgotten part of the military over a decade ago was to blame. He thought another old man was to blame; a power-hungry and ruthless one, plotting to kill any innocent standing in the way between him and total control of the continent was to blame, including his family. It was easiest to blame the war, a problem that transcended a singular person and was uncaring about which soldier or civillian - _or Royal-_ was caught in its crossfire.

 

A personal taste of betrayal sits sourly in his mouth now, and opens the gaping wound in his heart, because _how could he?_

 

How could someone he respect, someone he _trusted with his life for years_ , commit this sort of treason? How could Drautos look his Kingsglaive in the eyes every day and send them to the same people he had been secretly plotting with? How many of Nyx's brothers and sisters walk into suicide missions because they had probably figured out Drautos's scheme before anyone else had? His mind wanders to the bodycount of their missions. How many Lucian flags were draped taut over chrome caskets because of Drautos knowingly ordering them to their deaths? How many of them did he send into traps to change the tide of the war for his benefit?

 

The thought almost makes him pull out his weapons, turn on his heel, and walk into the holding chamber with a _lethal_ form of disobedient intent curling on his tongue. His vision almost fades into red when a breeze of magic wafts through from the end of the corridor.

 

The Ring is near, so Noctis has returned.

 

Noctis wearing the Ring of the Lucii, holding blessing of gods _older than the ground he is standing_ on, is near.

 

Nyx isn't sure if he thinks that with a foreboding tone, or a loyal one. He hasnt even move from his post in hours, but his chest is both heaving like he's near stasis _and_ his heart is caught in his ribcage at the same time.

 

The magic gets stronger even before the doors at the end of the corridor are opened, and Nyx's breath settles on sitting caught in his throat when they do.

 

The closer His Prince gets, the heavier the air feels, and the heavier the bonds Nyx has sworn to the Royal family weighs. By the time that they've reached over halfway down the hallway, some primordial part of Nyx's mind tells him to _kneel down._ He's not sure if it’s the Ring, Noctis, the circumstances, or a mixture of all three or once.

 

The magic emanating from him almost feels like a different breed of its own; its deific and unfaltering like a holy storm where the King's magic is as regal and steadfast as a mountain is. He's in Lucian black, half cape draped over the opposite shoulder to the ring and all, flanked by the Marshall, his Shield and his advisor Scientia. The Ring of the Lucii hangs from his hand, almost leaking magic onto the path as he stalks down the corridor his way. _Even the way he walks_ is different; its poised and tense, like a snake waiting patiently, ready to strike in less than a second's notice.

 

The bags under the Prince's eyes are the only things to give away his exhaustion, and Nyx is smarter to mention them as he bows upon their arrival and steps to the side to open the door for them to pass.

 

Nyx was wrong, in a way; his back _could_ get stiffer, especially when his eyes trace the curled, chrome and gold glow of the War Crown that haloed his Prince's head. It blended into his hair into some parts like a circlet would, the metal almost braided together like rose stems or the circumstances that brought Nyx to the Kingsglaive. The remainder of the crown was a lethal ode to the King's own crown with arching, _sharp_ , curved horns and thorns breaching the locks of his hair; it was a visual dare for an enemy's hands to get close to him, daring anyone to try and touch him and get out of that experience alive.

 

He's heard of the War Crown, he's seen it in textbooks, and its conditioned in him to know what it means; The Prince is at war, and he's going to be placing himself in the middle of the battlefield very, very soon.

 

Some deep part of Nyx wondered how fast an assailant would die if they were to try their luck on Noctis now; even if they could miraculously make it alive past the three men flanking him. Nyx is smarter than to miss the barest soft gleam of the Marshall's barely exposed katana, the way the Shield's eyes darted out of every window they passed, and how clearly calculating the advisor's eyes were as they made their way closer.

 

But Nyx stops his train of thought dead- _dead frozen_ in its tracks when he musters the balls to look Noctis in the eyes mid-bow. The War Crown pulled the hair out of his eyes that normally curtained the dark blue eyes that Noctis has-

 

-but the problem lies in the fact that those eyes _aren't blue anymore_ , and Nyx wonders if the Line of Lucis descends from the Gods themselves.

 

Because Noctis's eyes were the exact same shade as the very Crystal itself: they're a dark, deep violet that's crackling with a lethal sense of celestial, archaic magic Nyx could barely find the words to describe.

 

(He knows deep down, that the same Noctis he knows is still there, under the Ring, under the Crown, and under the walls he's put up to keep his emotions and magic in check, he can't dig him out from it all yet, he just needs patience and a drink in hand when that time comes.)

 

The retinue passes wordlessly, but Nyx knows his orders have somehow changed. Instead of insuring no one tries to force their way in, Nyx must not allow anyone _out_ of those doors, no matter how bad the shrieks of pain get, and now matter how much his own hands twitch at his kukris for a chance to participate.

 

\--------------------------

 

Its hours later, and Noctis is alone.

 

Not physically, but he hasn't felt this lost in years.

 

He has a fresh change of clothes on, scrubbed the blood and fear of failure off of him as best as he could, but there is still a crippling sense of _doubt_ that's overhanging him now, whispering in his ears like the advice of his ancestors.

 

Clarus had been kind enough to ensure that he has some privacy while he gets to see Dad again. But he's still not sure if he's ready to look at him like this, on the massive bed with IV drips tied into the same arms he used think held the world when he was small enough to fit into them.

 

He had interrogated Glauca until both the demon and the man underneath the mask had lost consciousness again, and yet he feels like he didn't get enough information. He had nothing more than the basic understanding of how interrogation procedures worked until the voices of his ancestor began whispering into his ears secrets possessively held for generations about the practice. To some of them, it was deeply avoided, and to some of the others, he found, there was a distinct art behind it.

 

Part of him lost recognition of who he was in those few hours, and another part of him is glad he doesn't remember much aside from sending out everyone else but Cor, who refused to leave under any circumstance, and insisted that at least one of them stay, just to be careful. They had all tried to stay by his side at first, but the blue halo of ancestral swords in the air around him left little room for argument.

 

Sometimes, Noctis remembered hearing two voices scream as one in that chamber, but then the image of Dad pulls up in his mind- Dad being impaled alive because he wanted his child safe, willing to die in a second if it meant that he had a mere chance at getting away- and he pushes down the guilt that tries to crawl up his spine.

 

Gladiolus, Ignis and Cor all seem to refuse to leave his side otherwise since he was first able to visit Dad. He knows that they are all tense and trying their best to be hypervigilant about his safety, but he almost wonders if any of them feel a fraction as terrified as he does, or as exhausted. Granted, he's been able to hide it rather well (or so he hopes), given he hasn't had more than half-minutes to really feel anything before some new development hits them all like a behemoth in full force.

 

All he can think of is how heavy everything is, now that he's finally alone with his thoughts.

 

The Ring of the Lucii feels as ancient and heavy as it's supposed to, nearly weighing him down with the pulsating of magic he feels dripping from his hand. He knows that he's supposed to be able to wear it one day and make it all look easy; channeling all of the magic flowing from the Crystal into holding the wall, supplying the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive with magic, and trying to hold the whole delicate web of magic together until he _can't_ anymore, but he's so exhausted now he just wants to flop onto the bed next to Dad and -

 

-And his stomach drops to the floor between his feet again and he nearly follows through the feeling with his whole body. Dad was willing to literally die for him today. _He saw it, he saw dad get impaled with a sword with his own goddamned eyes and oh it's going to haunt him for the rest of his life._

 

He tried to reassure himself that it's all over, that Dad is right over there on the bed and he should just _look_ and realize that it's going to be okay and that he can just push it down like it's all just been a terrible, terrible nightmare.

 

But for some reason he _can't_ , not just yet.

 

His soul feels heavy, and he doesn't know what that really means but it's so _accurate_. His whole body also feels tired, weighed down by the taxing ring and all the energy he's had to funnel through it all of a sudden. Clarus and Cor told him that the first week would be the worst, and that he'd have to ensure he gets rest during this time, but how can he sleep when there's so much he has to do? No matter how much Ignis delegates and re-delegates, there are still some things that only he can do as acting king. He has to stand at a podium and tell the public about how an Imperial death machine just _walked right into the castle_ and nearly hacked away at the royal family tree like a crazed lumberjack. He has to reassure diplomats that previous treaties with their countries are still standing, he has to meet with Dad's advisors- _now his_ \- for ways to plan and execute the counterattack, he has to continue reviewing the oaths of the Kingsglaive and Crownsguard, see if any of the magic binding him to them all has frayed because of any treason they've committed.

 

He has to stand _tall_ , tall as though an important pillar of trust wasn't just knocked down underneath his very feet, _tall_ as though he can hold up that pillar through the sheer strength of the Ring and the Crystal when that isn't the case at all.

 

Before he even registers moving, he finds himself slumped into the chair nearest to the bed. Face in his hands and silently shaking in both rage and utter horror.

 

_Glauca just essentially just walked in to the heart of Insomnia because he was also a trusted man. A deeply, closely, trusted man._

 

If Noctis were to ever leave the city before this, he would have told Drautos _to his face_ that his father's safety was in his hands.

 

He's not sure if he's the absolute fool, or if Drautos was just so good at fooling them all. He settles to blaming it on a mixture of both, because as shocking as all the revelation to his true identity is, it almost makes sense when his mind mulls over what Clarus has said.

 

So much has changed in such little time that he has mental whiplash on top of the physical, emotional, and mental exhaustion that's been leaking out of the mental compartments he's had to shove them all down in to avoid collapsing on the spot. He's seen the crease in Ignis's forehead return, which is a sure sign of worry for his health, Gladiolus is talking even less than before, mostly following him around like a shadow and trying to follow a day that has arrived prematurely for them all, all while eyeing Noctis like he's about to collapse any second onto the ground because of just how _exhausting_ everything is right now, even though he's doing his best to just power through until Ignis forces him onto a horizontal surface with a pillow and-

 

-Noctis takes a breath and looks at his father.

 

He forgets how long he's been sitting there, but quality over quantity… _right?_

 

The King of Lucis is peaceful in his sleep, stoic and statuesque like the carvings and art he's seen of their ancestors that haunt the Citadel. He concludes its something about his family's nose and cheekbones while he traces the outline of the older face lying on the ornate pillow that did little to make his father look like he's healing. There's a king on that pillow, but Noctis needs his father to wake up and tell him it's going to be _okay_.

 

He knows that it has been a while since they really got to see each other, but the attack in the ballroom forced them to spend some time together, and Noctis had been quietly grateful for that. He even was able to get the fishing trip from it, and it was more than he could have hoped for. But it has been a while since he's seen his father's face up close, and he gives up on trying to shy away from what he sees.

 

Noctis forgot that as he had been growing up, his father had been growing _old_. The pale face is now a canvas for the wrinkles and boldfaced veins to come to life, like winding rivers and harsh valleys of flesh. The aged skin is smoother in rest, so Noctis has a harder time telling whether there are more smile lines or frown lines to tell him about the King's common mood, but he can't help but suspect that the creases in the forehead were deeper than the ones around his eyes .

 

In all his father's efforts to work hard and attend meetings after events after war councils and even more meetings; it's not just for the sake of their citizens.

 

At the end of the day it's still all for _him_ , as Royal Heir and as his son, wasn't it? So he could inherit a stable and prosperous kingdom at the expense of his father's health.

 

Noctis has never wanted the Ring, nor the mantle of Kinghood. Sometimes, he feared his coronation and reign because of what it implied for the last piece of family he had in this world. Without his dad, there's no one else who would love him as unconditionally nor the way he needs it, regardless of whether or not he felt deserving of it somedays. It's the kind of love he could only get from the man fighting for his life right in front of him.

 

He's never wanted a kingdom, he just wanted both of his parents again.

 

His mind flashes back to the ballroom; how he was actually able to do something about the situation and not sit back to be herded off by the Crownsguard like some sitting duck. He was able to save everyone because he had thought quickly and had reacted even quicker to the threat. He thinks of the jasmine tea Dad had been drinking while he had moved his office to his hospital room to watch over him while he slept. His mind flashes to emerald, the sound of a small laugh, and the hand running through his hair while they waited for a second serving of jello.

 

Noctis's mind flashes to how he should be the one on that bed if he had reacted more quickly- had he figured it all out earlier and had protected dad before he sacrificed himself to keep him safe.

 

Safety requires sacrifice though, and Noctis hated becoming this dearly acquainted with its consequences.

 

_"We must be willing to sacrifice all for the people, it's our duty, little prince."_ He remembers the wisdom whispered in his ears when he was still small enough to fit in his father's lap in the Royal study, in a quiet moment in between ambassador visits.

 

_And to sacrifice yourself for your son is what it takes, right?_

 

It's a bitter and intrusive thought that makes him shake his head and squeeze the larger hand a little harder, finding comfort in the soft, steadfast pulse he finds there. Even though he put on the ring, accepted the power of his ancestors, and saved their Kingdom from sure ruin, he's not sure if he's done _enough_. Dad is lying right there in front of him because he couldn't get out of the way fast enough and-

 

-"That's a little tight there, don't you think?" He's shocked to find those eyes open, still green, and full of mirth as they gently open to meet his gaze.

 

"Dad-" it almost comes out as a complete sob before he crumples around the older hand he has tightly between his, pressing his chest against it as shuddering breathes rack him. He feels a soft shift in the bed as his father's free hand wraps around him and Noctis just gives it up and kicks off his shoes to fully crumple onto the bed. He hasn't put his head into his father's chest in what feels like _years_ now, but it's something he likes to think that they both need, after all that's happened. He can't place his head on the center as he would have liked, so Noctis settles to press his forehead against the upper corner of his father's chest, where no bandages and no injuries were.

 

 

His arms are almost koala latched to the side of his father, but he has no complaints and hears none as the rest of him flops onto the rest of the bedspace behind him.

 

" _Don't ever do that again_ " He's not sobbing, but the command is definitely too shaky and his eyes are too wet and scrunched up to be taken seriously, but he is _not_ crying.

 

"What? Oh, you didn't like a taste of your own medicine?" Well, at least his dad is laughing now, or close to it. There's a definite smile attached to those questions, but Noctis just hopes that he could make him smile about something more than just surviving what had just happened. He feels the staccato rise and fall of his father's soft chuckling, and it just makes him want to hold on just a little tighter, just enough for reassurance.

 

"Say that one more time…" he huffed. The threat is harmless, but it just sounds scarier than it is. He wants to take both their minds off of the trauma that just happened, for now at least.

 

"Or what, my little King?" His father's hand travels up from his back to open the war crown with two easy shifts of magic and metal before haphazardly tossing it to the nightstand. The older man then wastes no time to muss his hair up even more than it probably already is, and Noctis knows deep down that he wouldn't trade this moment for anything.

 

"Or I'll give you a taste of _your own_ medicine and eat all your jell-o." It's a purely empty threat, especially muffled into the sheets the way that he said it, but Noctis is sure that they're both desperate to find something to smile about that's not connected to something nearly devastating as Glauca, not yet at least.

 

"No, not the jell-o please, it's all I did it for, and it's all that can put me out of my misery now." Noctis hears Dad's head fall dramatically back to the pillow with a soft _thwumph_ as he finds it his turn to hold back a giggle.

 

"You took a sword for me…for _jell-o?_ "

 

"It's extremely good…. I guess you could say _it's to die for."_

 

"Dad no."

 

They both chuckle in the stillness of the room surrounding them and they stay like that. For hours or moments, neither of them cared to keep track, but it was enough to reassure them that _yes,_ they were both okay, both alive, and here for this moment of peace and safety. It's a quiet moment because _of course_ no one is crying because there's no one else in the room as a witness and they're barely able to break the silence.

 

Regis regardless, still has questions that need to be answered, and gently nudges traces his hand along his child's back again.

 

"What happened? I can tell by where we are that we are on the right side of the fight. But I have a feeling that there's more going on than what I know.." His father shifts a little to accommodate Noctis more easily, so he's completely on the bed while Noctis struggles to find where to begin.

 

"I put on the Ring and incapacitated him," he said, leaning into the heavy hand lost in his messy hair.

 

"As of now, I have twelve swords of the Armiger holding him down, and even more at the ready. He's in the deepest, most magically enforced dungeon we have, the one that we used to break down demons." He doesn't like thinking about it, he doesn't like how a sworn enemy is still alive in their home, no matter how many swords are impaling what's left of him, no matter how many equally betrayed and enraged Kingsglaives are guarding that door and waiting for Glauca to make anything more than a twitch under his binds. But his father's voice softly breaks him from his fears, as they always have.

 

"That's my boy." the hand behind his head is a comforting reassurance of his father's presence as he felt the fingers shift through his hair further. Despite the smell of elixirs and antibacterial ointments his father still smells like he's supposed to; like old magic, metal, and _the safety of home_. He needs the reassurance as his mind keeps flashing back to how Glauca had left his father- wounded, scared, and almost a corpse in his arms-

 

Noctis is pulled out of his intrusive flashback by a hand- _Dad's hand_ \- gently  running up and down his whole back.

 

 -Because Dad was the only person on all of Eos aware of how much he hates it when other people try to even touch his shoulders, let alone his back. Dad, who risked his life being the only thing that stood between him and the Maralith who had mauled him and was only seconds from finishing his life. He was the only one who risked his life and safety to bring him to the Oracle, the only one who waited months after months tirelessly and stubbornly at his side while he was almost lost to a dreamscape. The hand on his back is more than just a comforting movement, it's the gesture only his father could do to reassure him that everything was okay - _they were both okay-_  and what Glauca did was in the past. He tenses again up at the thought of Glauca and the mental image of his sword through his only family left, and feels the hand on him gently stop.

 

"Come on Noct, I'm right here, what's wrong?" The worry in his father's voice pulls in the air between them, and Noctis has already blurting it out faster than he can realize it.

 

"It's Drautos. General Glauca was captain Drautos the whole time." At this point, Noctis doesn't hold back from steeling himself and begins to shake a little when the hand on his back stops dead in its tracks. He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn’t want to consider how much they had trusted him, how close they let such a destructive and bloodthirsty force into the safety of their home. He doesn't want to think about what could have happened had he become _successful_ -

 

-his mind stops its spiral when he feels a gentle squeeze to his back, it's protective and grounding when Dad breaks his silence.

 

"I should have known. But _how_? He's had more than plenty of chances to end the both of us, why now?" Noctis feels the arms gently encompassing him squeeze a little tighter before loosening again, and somehow he's never felt safer in his life.

 

"Clarus has some theories, but we can talk about those later." He snuggles deeper into the embrace and conveniently forgets he's supposed to be too old for needing this affection.

 

\----

 

And Regis silently smiles into the hair of his boy's head, and enjoys the brief moment of quiet familiarity that they've both been searching for. _How long has it been since they've held each other like this?_

 

_Too long_ he concludes. He knows that the Glauca situation is under control now, and he has plenty of time to shred that traitor apart atom by atom in his own sweet time.But the priority now is the quiet coming from the child latched onto him like a lifeline. The feeling is disconcerting, and the quiet is growing less familiar and more deafening with each passing minute, and Regis knows that he won't pass on into sleep until it's addressed.

 

"Now, what else is bothering you, my boy?" There's a beat of silence between them, and it's almost unintelligible with his face planted right into the comforting embrace.

 

"Why did you do it?" the voice is small for someone who had handed the Demon General a catastrophic defeat, and he feels something deeper lurking beneath the surface.

 

"…I'm not sure I understand, my boy." The hesitation is frustrating to hear, but he knows that his question was heard. He turns his head to face the expectant ceiling, and refuses to look at his father's face when he elaborated further.

 

"Why did you take the blow for me? You could've knocked us both out of the way, or just threw up the barrier. Why did you warp in front of me like that?"

 

"I could ask the same to you when you took those bullets for me, little one. In hindsight, those are better ways I could have handled it." The question that his little boy asked him months ago haunts the forefront of his mind with painful clarity.

 

_"Would you have done the same for me?"_

 

Regis wants nothing more than to yell it from the rooftops that _yes he would, without a doubt, in a heartbeat, of course, and that isn’t even a real question_. But that question isn't hanging in the air now, so he has to explain it the best way that he can.

 

"But no matter what could have happened to me, _your_ safety is all I ever really care about."

 

"Dad, don’t say that. We all need you alive and safe."

 

"And I wouldn’t be the soundest bit sane to lead Lucis if anything had happened to you. _You, Noctis,_ are all that I really hold dear in this physical world. Our duties are to our people and safeguarding the crystal, yes. But if I lost you, our entire country and I would go mad with grief." His counterpoint is made softly, but with just as much confidence had he yelled it to the heavens as he tightens his grip on his son.

 

"But you could still have another kid though." The voice of his only child and light was small, too small to be filled with such fear and insecurity. Now, this kind of talk is what Regis has been trying for years to stomp down into the ground and out of existence. He's almost excited to finally hear it right now, so he can rip it all out, _root and stem._

 

" _No_. Never has a treasonous thought like that crossed my mind, Noctis. You, like your mother, are irreplaceable to me. Always have been, and always will be… Why do you think I never remarried?  Your mother was my happy ever after, and there's nothing no one could change about that. You are more important to me as the only child we ever had together. You are the only child I have, and the only child _I've ever wanted_. If I pass on, my soul will simply move on into the Ring, and you'll never truly lose me, but if we all lost _you_ , Lucis would surely be in ruin. I know surely for a fact I would be." He wants to hope that such a declaration would be enough, but Regis knowns that he could go on for years and still have more to say get his point across. His mind flashes to the older, crueler gaze of his own father, and he tightens his grip on his boy in a silent promise.

 

Damn the prophecy, damn the Crystal, and above all, damn the Six that call for his child's soul to be the sacrificial lamb. For all the magic and ancient paranoia that was engraved into his Crown, Regis was still a _father_. And now he realizes it's about time he's started acting more like one than only when his child was nearly on his deathbed. He wants to go _right_ to Gralea this instant and burn it down like he was Ifrit incarnate. He surely has enough anger to power such magic, the only thing stopping him right now are his wounds and the limitations of his physical body.

 

Noctis must hate talking about this, from what he can see, as he feels the head nuzzle even deeper into his embrace its almost painful. He cherishes the feeling, but he needs to ensure all the embers of this insecure fire are out.

 

"The mantle of Prince can be taken by anyone, but you, my boy, are the only one worthy of being both Prince, and King. You're a natural leader, and I know for a fact that you have all the makings that a great king needs, the kind of king we'll all need when the future comes."

 

_If Regis ever lets that sort of future come to pass, not while he still has air in his lungs still._

 

"I also feel like you never remarried because you'd be scared of what mom would do to you when you finally meet up again in the afterlife."

 

Regis was never more startled by such honesty. Yet for all his regality, tge king of Lucis must be more transparent than he thinks. The barking laughter shakes both their bodies and it nearly hurts, but the honesty is still there.

 

"Now, we don’t tell anyone about that, but yes, yes that’s also true." He whispered conspiratorially into the flop of hair on his chest as he feels the body on him still shaking with laughter.

 

"I do believe it's time for you to rest now, my little king." Regis doesn't hold back a smile as he pokes softly at the tiredness under his son's eyes.

 

"And as I still live and breathe on this annoying physical plane, you will rest until I say so."

 

"Is that a threat, or a promise?"  
                                              

"More like a royal decree, from one king to another." It's cheesy, but Regis has always been _waiting_ to make that joke for some time now.

 

"As you command." His child smiles up at him as he settles onto the pillow adjacent in an equally cheesy and knowing manner.

 

"Goodnight, your Majesty."

 

"Goodnight to you as well, your Majesty." Regis's tone is playful and _tired_ as they each respectively closed their eyes. Noctis now loosely curled around his father, and Regis still on his back, contentedly eyeing the wooden figure that had been mysteriously placed on the nightstand nearest to him. He made a mental note to leave an offering to the little god the next time he was conscious again.

 

Sleep came to them as easily as relief then. Drautos  will be dealt with soon, when he and his boy have rested and there's been proper thought into _what_ and _how_ his sins must be atoned for. His only ideas have been both justified and cruel to the same man he trusted his life with, but he'd like to hear Clarus's ideas as well soon.

 

But for now, he knows he should rest. Noctis may have the full support of Clarus, Cor, and his own retainers, but he still wants to be back at his full strength as soon as possible. As the King drifted to sleep, his only thoughts were of how much the sleeping tuft of hair reminded him of the only love of his life, and how terrifyingly close he had come to being reunited with her too soon.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry fr taking so long to post this but a LOT happened to me since I last posted including some college finals, a breakup, and visiting family. I'll post the next one soon though, promise!
> 
> AND ALSO PLEASE give surfacage on tumblr love for this piece of art which is stunning and amazing https://www.surfacage.net/post/185725302894/lucis-caelum

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is gonna be an ol switcheroo on who's getting hurt and who is gonna whoop some Niff ass
> 
> This is genuinely dedicated to everyone who commented, read, and left kudos on all of my old fics. Everyone's love REALLY brought me out that depressed writers block I had going on for the longest time. This especially is for the wonderful YoriMei for all of their love for my fics and the super talented Saber_Wing who is an amazing writer everyone should go check out


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